


Angel's Wings

by Its_Ava_Bitch



Category: Westlife
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Boys Kissing, Everyone Is Gay, Falling In Love, M/M, Mark is not an ugly Phantom, Mark is the Phantom, Supernatural Elements, Touching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 06:04:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12248472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Its_Ava_Bitch/pseuds/Its_Ava_Bitch
Summary: In London, it was often whispered and believed that the old Emerald Opera House was haunted by an enigmatic entity known as "the Phantom". Some claimed that said ghost was flesh-and-blood creature that took the form of a man, while others attest that he was in fact, a monster. A string of strange accidents, a number of letters with cryptic instructions, and rumors of hearing a hauntingly beautiful yet mournful voice singing in the dead of night only seemed to confirm the hearsay...Ever since he was orphaned at eleven, Shane Filan always believed that his father would send him an angel of music, like the older man promised he would. Raised in the Emerald Opera House by its kind owner and meeting a mysterious entity whose face he never once saw, yet whose voice enchanted and entranced him with its beauty, Shane thought that perhaps, his late father really had been watching over him all along.Now, Shane wasn't stupid - he heard about the rumors and witnessed one too many things. However, what exactly did the whispers have to do with his mysterious, masked teacher, whose beautiful blue eyes were the saddest ones he ever saw, and whose voice was more angel than monster, and touched more than his soul?





	Angel's Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys, I'm Ava and it's time that I came out of lurking and came out with a work of my own!
> 
> I've been inspired by the works of everyone here...SwedishGirl, chooken, ausfil, a1_kitkat and everyone else. You're all such great writers and you guys kinda tempted me to have a go at it, even though my writing style isn't the best! 
> 
> The Phantom of the Opera is my all-time favorite musical, and I decided that I could start from there. The idea of Mark as the Phantom really kept tempting me to go for it.
> 
> From time to time, some very familiar names would pop up. Yes, I read some Westlife books and some names mentioned there would be featured in this story. :-P
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy reading my (somewhat lame) attempt at writing!

**An Unknown Circus - London, Winter 1880**

“Now why don’t all you boys come and gather ‘round here?”

A young man, whose head was mysteriously concealed by a rough grey sack, and whose body clad in little more than threadbare trousers, sat on the straw of his caravan, shivering in the cold, winter air. At the sound of the circus master’s cruel voice, his skin prickled. Footsteps moved closer and closer, first the familiar heavy ones of the circus master, followed by several unfamiliar, frantic ones that accompanied excited, young voices, some of them hushed and others a little louder.

The young man huddled and curled into the corner of his caravan, breathing heavily. He was all too familiar with what was going to happen next. Another night of having to endure his master whipping him and children gawking at him, all for something he couldn’t help possessing. He hadn’t asked for such a curse…he never did, and in fact, if he had one wish, he wished he had died long ago…

—————

“Behold, the Devil’s Child!” The circus master announced. The hulking carnie by his side grinned fiendishly at his superior’s words, and took them as his cue to do his part. He brandished a long whip before unlocking the cage-like doors of the dim caravan and climbing inside. The ringmaster shone his torch towards the open doors, revealing a lone figure huddled in the furthest corner of the cage - what looked to be a dirty, skinny man with a stained, grey bag over his head. The carnie cracked the whip on the man’s bare back, earning a muffled cry in response.

The audience to the night’s spectacle, a group of schoolboys, muttered amongst themselves, not one of them daring to speak up. The ringmaster wasn’t deaf or blind, however, and he knew all too well the first thing that came to the minds of the ones who didn’t know any better.

_“But doesn’t he look…human?”_

_“He’s just a man. Who cages a man?”_

_“Who is the Devil’s Child, anyway?”_

“Be silent…and look again,” the ringmaster chastised as he brought up his silk-clad finger to his lips as he pointed at the open caravan once more. The carnie was now manhandling the prisoner, and had forcefully yanked off the sack from his head to reveal…

“But sir, ‘tis obviously the face of a man,” a single brave voice spoke up. More murmuring and whispering ensued, for what was revealed, indeed, was a man, or at least _looked like a man_ , and not the horrendously disfigured monster that most would’ve expected. The man couldn’t have been more than twenty or twenty-five, and though he was covered in grime, there was absolutely nothing about him that indicated he was a monster, at least at first glance. He was a dark-haired and slender-faced youth, with plump lips and the saddest, yet most hauntingly beautiful blue eyes that anyone could imagine. Had anyone not known any better, he could’ve easily been mistaken for a captive fey, perhaps even a fallen angel, or at least something more otherworldly than a human man.

A crack of the carnie’s whip silenced the crowd, and a tortured whimper escaped from the lips of the Devil’s Child as the flesh on his back broke and blood poured out. Red blood that again, looked all too human.

“Ah, but the devil deceives you, young man,” the circus master remarked with a wicked grin on his face as he himself stepped into the caravan, joined his carnie, and roughly grabbed a handful of hair from atop the man’s head.

“This man you see? He’s over fifty years old, I’m telling you. Yet, pray tell me, why doesn’t look a day over twenty or twenty-five? The Fountain of Youth? The Elixir or Life? A Faustian deal, even?” His tone was increasingly taunting as he went on, daring his audience to come up with something even more outrageous. Another lash of the whip fell upon the captive’s back, and the whimper turned into a pained cry. Two more lashes, before the circus master roughly grabbed the bleeding man by his shoulders and turned him around so that his ravaged back faced the schoolboys.

“Now watch,” the circus master breathed, his cruel, sneering whisper cutting through the now-silent night. The schoolboys kept their eyes fixed on the back of the Devil’s Child, though the one who had spoken up earlier gave a slight shake of his head, looked once and then averted his eyes, his expression one of barely-concealed disgust. For a minute, nothing happened, and murmurs about the entire premise being a sham began to ensue.

_“He’s a twenty-year-old man who looks like any other twenty-year-old man. We’ve been had.”_

_“Devil’s Child indeed.”_

_“What’s up next? A hound from the depths of Tartarus?”_

However, something had begun to happen. The blood had began to stop its flow and slowly, the broken flesh began to knit itself back together, as if by magic, and it was magic that none of the boys had ever seen in their lives. They could only watch wordlessly as the lash wounds continued to heal themselves until the skin on the man’s back was whole again, without any trace of a scar. It was as if no whip had touched it minutes ago, let alone for years. Quite simply, it was either an actual miracle, or the work of magic. This display, whatever its nature was, managed to change the impressionable young minds of those in the audience and soon, all of the boys were joining in the jeering and insulting of circus master and his carnie towards the captive young man, and beginning to hurl things towards the caravan.

“Devil’s Child…Devil’s Child…”

All of them except one, that was. Said boy, a sixteen-year-old youth by the name of Anto Byrne, had separated himself from his schoolmates, silently hiding behind one of the other caravans they had already passed.

All he had to do was stay quiet and wait.

—————

The captive man sat on the straw of his locked caravan once more, hugging a ragged, mangy blanket around his body. The schoolboys were long gone, the circus master had almost certainly retired for the night, and the sack had once again been thrown over his head. It was only at this time of night where he felt like he could have some semblance of peace, an escape from all that he had to endure by day - the jeering, the mocking, the beatings and in general, the cold cruelty of the world he lived in - the cruelty directed towards him just for something that he had absolutely no control over.

He shivered in the cold darkness, a single wish creeping inside him - that one day, he would be freed of the confines of his cage. The one boy he saw earlier, the one who called him a man and not a monster, the who looked on in disgust and refused to join the others’ jeering…he did not want to admit it, but the boy made him hope, even though he knew that it was something he should’ve learned not to do a long time ago. He had seen many looks like that, and all of them got his hopes up alright…yet none of them did anything in the end. He didn’t blame any of them in the least, however. Who in the right state of mind would be brave enough to sneak into a circus freak show after dark to free a total stranger, anyway?

 _Stupid boy…they’re all the same. You should know better than to be naive. The world is cold and cruel,_ the voice in his mind chided him. Beneath the bag, he bit his lip, shook his head and swallowed the feeling that he knew was coming, as he tried as best he could to steer his mind away from any thoughts other than the one that he repeated to himself nightly. He had to be strong, he thought. They were just words, just lashes of a whip…surely it would take more than words and some pain to break someone?

_“Devil’s Child…Devil’s Child…”_

He was fighting a losing battle, however, and in the end, the tears that he had been holding back began to fall, just like they did almost every night. He drew his filthy knees towards his chest and buried him face in them as he tried to stifle his sobbing.

Though he might have been crying, at least the sack served one purpose - nobody had to see him at his weakest and take advantage of that.

—————

He didn’t know whether five, fifteen or even fifty minutes had passed. Time was something he hardly noticed any longer, save for sunrise or sunset. He did hear, however, the dull rattling sound of metal bars that seemed to be coming from the grills of his caravan. He instinctively backed away into the darkest reaches of his prison. It was likely a drunk carnie, anyway.

“Over here,” a voice, a whisper in the night, spoke as the rattling ceased. “And please, for the love of God, just take off that sack and look over here. There’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of,” The voice, the familiar voice, added.

“Why are you here? What are you going to do with me?” The captive man asked as he crawled over towards the bars reluctantly. He made no effort to remove the sack over his head, however. His reply was met by a hand reaching inside the bars and touching his own. It was a different touch from what he had known for so long.

It was warm, it did not seek to hurt him and it felt…comforting.

“To help you get out of here of course. Do I look like yet another carnie? Or someone who approves of keeping human pets for that matter?” The voice sighed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You know, you really should take off that goddamn sack or put some holes for your eyes at least.”

This time, the prisoner obeyed and unmasked himself, blinking before taking in his visitor. It was indeed, the schoolboy from earlier.

“You came…for me?” He asked cautiously, his voice small from disbelief and surprise.

“See? So much better. And yes. Why else would I be standing in front of you, Blue?” The youth replied cheekily.

“Are you bloody crazy? What would you do if those gits caught you…us?” He whispered furiously, shaking his head. “And, what kind of a name is Blue?”

“One, there’s nobody else here, save for some sleeping animals. Two, you never even told me your name, genius. You have pretty blue eyes. Lovelier than most women’s, for sure.” The young man quipped, something that made the beautiful captive face turn warm and blush bright pink.

“By the way, before you think of anything clever, the name’s Anto. Anto Byrne,” he added.

“I’m Mark…at least, I think I’m called Mark,” the prisoner mumbled, trying to hide the small smile that began to cross his face. Nobody had ever asked for his name for so long, and for someone to do so made him feel a bit better.

“So, how on earth are you going to get me out of here, anyway?”

“Less talk, less distraction, Mark. We don’t have all the time in the world,” Anto chided, before inspecting the lock for a few seconds, and then nodding.

“I know a place…an opera house, owned by a family friend. He’s is a good man, eccentric but good. He’ll take you in and look after you. He’ll make sure no circus holds you captive any longer,” he assured.

“I’ll be free, then?” Mark’s voice was hopeful as tears once again glistened in his eyes, though he knew deep in his heart that this freedom and protection came with its own costs - one that he could not yet fathom.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually a medical school student, so updates wouldn't be that quick due to my workload. Writing is very therapeutic for me, however, so I'll try my best to give regular updates!


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